


My Friends and Me

by JRC



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Attempted Murder, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Demons, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 12:45:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11737332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JRC/pseuds/JRC
Summary: Demons appear as you expect them to. So what do they look like to a child who doesn't know what a demon is? Alternatively, what would a person be like if their only friends were demons? I explore these questions here.





	My Friends and Me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not gonna lie, this is a little dark. I would personally recommend that if you have issues with abuse, you DON'T read this story. I tried to cover most of the stuff that could be an issue in the tags, but not everyone reads the tags.

The first friend I made was named Roast Nug.

Roast Nug and I would draw fantastic feasts in the dirt that served as the floor of my room when I was a young child. Chocolate cake, huge bowls of rice, legs of goat and slabs of cow. Sometimes, when I put the little clay bowl over the drawing, I could pretend they were one and the same. The gruel would taste less like gruel, and more like something delicious.

Roast Nug always asked for some of my food. I had to tell him no. I would lift the hem of my dress and show him my empty stomach. It took a long time, but eventually, he stopped asking. Then he stopped coming. I would keep drawing feasts on the ground without him, but it got harder and harder to imagine foods I hadn’t already drawn. Roast Nug was always good at that. Coming up with delicious, mouthwatering meals that I wanted so badly to eat.

Roast Nug said he had a way to let me eat whatever I wanted, for as long as I wanted, but I knew he was lying.

Like mother lied when she said she would come right back from the village.

Like father lied when he said he loved mother.

Like they both lied when I asked what happened to my little brother.

People lie sometimes. Friends lie. Family lies. It happens. I got used to it.

After Roast Nug stopped visiting, and mother stopped coming back, I met Itch.

 

Itch would come and crawl all over my skin, reminding me that mother was never coming back, that she was probably dead, that she had probably never loved me.

“You’re right,” I would say, folding my hands over my stomach, lying in bed late into the night, Itch scampering up and down my arms and legs excitedly.

“You’re nothing to her. She’s not thinking about you now. She never thought about you even when she was here,” Itch snarled, trailing a thin, bony tail down my calf.

“You’re right,” I hummed. “She’s not. She didn’t.”

“Your brother is dead,” Itch would hiss, stopping by my ear and caressing my hair with her sharp little fingers. “Your parents killed him.”

“You’re right,” I agreed, closing my eyes.

“Your father will kill you too, you know,” Itch breathed, fine hairs brushing against my ear lobe. “You’re dangerous. You’re a liability. He doesn’t want you.”

“You’re right,” I smiled, drifting off to sleep. The familiar litany of terrible things helped me sleep at night. It was much better than the silence. “Good night, Itch.”

“Terrible dreams await you…” Itch murmured, curling up in a ball beside my ear, a tiny, dejected sigh escaping her lips.

Itch stopped coming at night once she realized that I was not afraid of the things she could try to use to frighten me. I think she went off to scare some other little girl. I hope so. I would hate to think that she ended up somewhere all alone.

When Itch left, Father came.

 

Father didn’t look like my father. He looked like someone else’s father. His skin was lighter than mine, his eyes were darker. He had no hair, and no pointed ears. But he would conjure books out of thin air. Books about the great lengths fathers would go to in other worlds to protect their daughters. He would read these books to me, sometimes. In the books, fathers ventured across nations to retrieve their precious girls. They fought vicious and dangerous monsters. They gave up vices that had plagued stronger men for decades, like lust, gambling, and drink.

My real father sat outside in the main body of the hovel and drank. I didn’t mind. I was happy to hear that the girls in the stories had fathers who would give up such vices.

Other times, we would play games. Father taught me how to play poker when I was eight years old with a ratty old deck of cards, half of which were smeared with blood. Then blackjack, war, bullshit, and wicked grace.

He always smiled so kindly, Father did. Always laughed when I tried to tell a joke, and teased me when I made mistakes. He would pick me up when I fell down, and kiss me goodnight before leaving. Sometimes, I still miss Father. But he wanted to be me, to teach my father a lesson. I couldn’t let him do that.

“No,” I remember telling him, frowning deeply, crossing bony little arms over my chest. “My real father hasn’t done anything wrong. I won’t let you hurt him through me.”

Father looked as though I had told him I was moving to Par Vollen. “But… he ignores you, child. He hardly feeds you. He does not clothe you, or clean you. It’s like he barely knows you exist. Do you not want him to be taught the error of his ways?”

I shook my head, glaring up at Father angrily. “No. Leave my father alone.”

Baffled, Father turned to leave. He floated out through the wall. He never came back. A few weeks after Father left, Tomorrow came.

 

Tomorrow liked to remind me that every day for the rest of my life would be the same. She would point out the grimy window, over the endless plains, and tell me that there was a whole world out there that I would never get to see. Not ever.

I told Tomorrow that there was always something new to find, right here, in our little shack. Why, that same day, I had found a brand new spider web in the corner! It hadn’t been there the previous day, which might mean I had a new friend.

“But tomorrow, what new could possibly happen?” Tomorrow pressed, floating closer, her sunken eyes wide and shining with urgency. “You’ve already found the tear in your blanket. The hole in the floor board. The spider web. The crack in the window. The loose wall panel. You explore this room every day. How could there be more?”

There just… was. There was always something new. There had to be. Tomorrow just didn’t understand.

If there was nothing new, there would be no reason to get out of bed. And if there was no reason to get out of bed, I would meld into the bed over time. And if I melded into the bed, father would eventually come and check up on me, only to find me gone. Father always sounded so lonely. I couldn’t leave him.

“What if… what if tomorrow, the tear in your blanket, the hole in the floor board… all of it. All the things you notice that are different. What if they were all fixed?” Tomorrow urged, floating so close, I could feel her cold breath on my cheek.  
“Then I would get to find new things,” I smiled, laying back on my bed and staring up at the ceiling. 13 planks of wood across. I had counted at least a hundred times. “There’s always something. You can’t predict tomorrow.”

Neither could I predict Tomorrow’s departure. One morning I simply woke up alone again, for the first time in well over a year. I had a little trouble adjusting with no one to talk to… until Smack came. Then I almost wished that I had no one to talk to. That I wouldn’t have needed to talk to them.

 

Smack would come and peer out at me from my closet when father came in to hit me. His glowing eyes held a promise: I had only to agree, and we could make father stop. He would never hit me again. Smack reminded me of all the mean things father had ever said about me, about my mother, about my brother, about anyone who dared come to the door of our tiny shack. He reminded me that I deserved better. That I had never done anything to earn the beatings I had received. That somewhere outside this shack, someone might love me.

Smack made my vision red and hazy. The room would seem to spin, and my hands would clench into fists, fingernails biting into the palm of my hand. I would always close my eyes and lay down and wait. It was the only way to make him stop.

When I could finally see everything in the proper colors once more, I would sit up and watch Smack patiently and wait for him to grow bored. Then I would explain why I could not do that.  
“Father is having a hard time. He misses mother. He doesn’t really want me living here, but he won’t turn me in to the Templars.” I wasn’t quite sure what Templars were, or why I should be turned in to them, but it’s what father always said when he came and hit me, so it must be true.

Smack hissed derisively, like he always did.

“He also doesn’t want to get in trouble for hiding me,” I reasoned, folding my hands in my lap as I explained to Smack once again what I thought my father must be going through. “I’m his secret. Secrets are hard to keep. The more you keep them to yourself, the more they try to get out.”  
I turned and looked out the dingy window, over the plains, and sighed. I had seen wild Mabari run past our shack from time to time, and once, a man on horseback, fleeing after my father had scared him off. Otherwise, the view stayed unchanging. It must have been just as bad for father. He never left the main room of the shack.  
“Secrets are like… like a Mabari, tied to a fence post. They want to run, to be free. They can’t stay in such a small space forever. They’d go mad. Father is going a little mad, because of the secret. But I won’t strike back at him. What would that accomplish?”

“You could leave!” Smack snarled, his eyes glowing brightly in the relative dark of my tiny room. “Don’t you want to leave this horrible, filthy place? Where you have little food and less water, no friends, and nothing to occupy your time with?”

“No,” I said simply, lying back on my bed and folding my hands over my stomach. “This is fine.”

Smack left after a month. I think I frustrated him, which was not something he was used to. It took some time before Pillow came to take his place.

 

Pillow was soft, and warm, and liked to give me all-enveloping hugs. I… I really liked her hugs. It was a nice feeling, being wrapped up in something soft and warm that wasn’t trying to hurt you. But she also made all my limbs feel tingly, and heavy.

Sometimes, I just let her hold me. It was nice. I felt safe. Warm. Sleepy.

But other times? I had things to do. Floor boards to count. Spiders to watch. Clouds to follow through the sky with my eyes. There was just… so much to do.

Pillow never wanted me to leave the bed, though. My fingers felt like they were filled with lead, my chest like someone was sitting on it. With every cold word she breathed in my ear, the feelings just got stronger and stronger. Stay. Rest. Slip. Release. Sleep.

“Pillow, let me go,” I demanded, sliding my hands underneath my body, and pushing myself up into a sitting position, even though I wobbled when I straightened up. “Sleep is for nighttime. Then when the sun comes out again, I will wake up.”  
“But child,” Pillow protested, her otherwise soft, formless shape contorting slightly into what I recognized as her expressing annoyance. “There is nothing here for you. There is a dusty room, and a dirty window. A man who hits you, and food that tastes like dirt. Sleep, and I can give you dreams of places you could never imagine on your own. Someone to sweep you away from this place, and feed you whatever you wanted to eat. The softest bed you’ve ever lain in.”  
I shook my head, folding my arms over my chest. “But it won’t be real. If I’m going to see it… I want to see it for real. Not just pretend. Right now, I’m here. People have offered to take me away. Well… spirits have. One day… one day, I’ll leave. But not today. What would father do without me? He would have no one to bring food to, or complain about.”

Pillow sighed, seeming to deflate slightly. Then she opened up again, as if spreading her arms for a hug. “Come back, child. No sleep. Just… rest. Alright?”  
This is how it ended every time. Her attempts to persuade me to sleep in her arms grew more and more halfhearted as time passed. Pillow stayed the longest out of all my friends. I… I still miss her, occasionally. But eventually, Wind came and scared her off.

 

Wind was a talker. Of course, some of the other spirits had talked a lot as well. But Wind was so much more talkative. He always kept his voice just barely above a whisper, so as not to alert my father, but he never stopped talking. Not even when I was trying to sleep. But Maker, the things he talked about!  
Wind told me of so many different places. He described every great city he had ever been to, and even a number of small villages with odd qualities. Jungles, seas, and winding rivers, open fields and immense mountains. Denerim and Kirkwall, Par Vollen and Minrathos. A village called Lothering, the empty plains of the Dales, the roiling sea between Ferelden and the Free Marches, the savage and overgrown Arbor Wilds.

Oh, how I ached to be able to leave my shack and visit these unimaginable places.

After places, it was people. Amazing people! The Hero of Ferelden. The Champion of Kirkwall! The Inquisitor. I could meet them, I could be their friends. They could tell father to be nice to me, and give me warm, lavish quarters to sleep in at night. I would dine upon great feasts, and entertain the most attractive people in all of Thedas. I could have a whole herd of Mabari to myself, to train or treat as I pleased. Or a swarm of cats, if I preferred. I wasn’t certain. I had never had a cat or a Mabari—only watched them through my window.

Through my window was where all of these amazing people and fantastic places waited for me... but in order to see them, I would have to leave my room first. Wind described no less than seven different ways I could leave my room, each more dangerous and destructive than the last. In one of them, I apparently burned down my hut and flew all the way to the court of Orlais to meet the Empress.

Of course, Wind offered me all of these things. The marvelous adventures, fabulous meet and greets, and exciting exits from the only home I’d ever known. Constantly. Every hour, of every day. But I knew what that entailed.

Every time, I politely declined. Every time, Wind looked as though I had greatly disappointed him. I didn’t like to make him sad, but neither could I accept his offer. Eventually, he realized that, and simply left. It took several weeks for me to grow used to the silence once more. Once I did, Me came.

 

When I say Me, I do not mean me, or I. I mean... Me. Me looked like me. Spoke like me. Moved like me. But there was no way Me was me. Me was tall, and you couldn’t see her ribs. She carried a great staff, and wore striking robes of deep red velvet. They were the most gorgeous thing I had ever seen. Me said that this was what I was. I told her that was absurd; one look at me could tell her that I was not the same as she was. She sat on the mattress beside me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder. It felt comforting, but at the same time, off-putting. Like there was some sort of underlying threat in her gesture.

“Darling,” Me crooned. “I am the you of the future. I am you once you escape this dreary place. I am you once you venture out, and discover your true power.”  
“Power?” I echoed, disbelieving. “I don’t have power. I just have... imagination.”  
“And who said the two are different?” Me snapped, reaching around my neck to stroke my cheek with her soft fingers. “My darling. All you have to do is let me in, and I will teach you. I will teach you power, and how to wield it. How to use it to ensure no one ever treats you so poorly again. How to become the most powerful mage in the country—nay, in all of Thedas!”

I reached up and removed Me’s hand from my face. “That’s okay,” I said softly, shifting to sit on the floor, across from Me rather than beside her. “I don’t want to be the most powerful mage in the country. Or all of Thedas. I just... I just want to stay here so father won’t grow lonely.”  
Me arched an eyebrow, clearly displeased with my refusal. “My dear girl. Your father is an old man. An old man, who lives practically by himself in a tiny shack which barely keeps out the winter. An old man, in an insufficient shack, who does not take care of himself properly. How much longer do you truly think he will be here?”

My throat constricted tightly. “Don’t say that,” I insisted, clenching my hands into fists at my sides. “Father isn’t going anywhere.”  
“You’re right, he’s not leaving this shack,” Me agreed, standing up from my mattress and beginning to pace back and forth in the small room. “But he’ll die here, child. Without a healer? Without someone to make him stop drinking, make him stop eating little more than sawdust? He’ll die. Is that what you want?”  
“No,” I whispered, clutching my shaking knees close to my chest, my dirty nightgown bunching up against my stomach. “No. You’re lying.”  
“Oh, I’m lying?” Me hissed, leaning in close to my face, and gripping my chin tightly with her sharp nails. “I know much more than you. I know everything you will know, one day. I know what happens when a man sits and drinks and eats sawdust and beats his daughter. I know that one day, he will die.”

“No,” I murmured, squeezing my eyes shut. “No. He won’t die. He can’t die. I... I won’t let him!”

“And how are you going to stop it from happening?” Me demanded, shaking my face. “Hm? Are you going to leave the room and beg him to stop drinking? He would beat you. Are you going to stop eating your gruel so he can have twice as much? That won’t save him. You can’t reinforce the shack to keep out the cold. You’re stuck in this stupid, filthy little room!”

Anxious, I dug my nails into my palms until the skin there broke. She was right, of course she was right. But I couldn’t let father die. Then I really would be all alone. Then what would I do? Where would I go? Who would bring me gruel?

“You have no idea, the places I’ve been, the people I’ve met,” Me continued, releasing my face finally and beginning to pace around the room once more. “I’ve been everywhere. Seen everything. Done everything I ever wanted to. I ate food that tasted like it was crafted by the Maker’s hands. I drank wine so sweet, it was as though it was the Maker’s breath, condensed. I’ve seen sights so beautiful, it was as though the Maker himself had crafted them specifically for my enjoyment.

“And what do you do? You sit here, on your dirty floor, in your tiny room, in a decrepit hut in the middle of nowhere. Why? Because your moronic father tells you to shut up and stay put. Because he beats you when you dare to leave. Because you think you care about him.

“You’ll learn. They always learn. You’re so stupid now. You won’t let me teach you. If I could only teach you, I could change everything. I’ll be waiting, brat. Just wait and see.”

Each word Me spoke set my whole body aflame, my hands trembling and my vision going blurry. I could feel a presence like Smack, but different, floating around in the back of my mind. I shut him out. This was a private conversation.

Finally, I could take Me’s chastisement no longer. “SHUT UP!” I screamed, and to my surprise, A blast of... something shot out from all around me, causing the dilapidated walls of my room to shoot through the air, away from me.

Three walls landed in the grassy plain, as a cold gust of wind caught my knotted hair and tugged gently. The fourth wall appeared to have landed atop my father, who groaned as if in pain.

“Father!” I gasped, shooting up from where I sat, and rushing over to his side, trying to push the wall off him, but to no avail.

Me was still standing on the floor of what had been my room, looking at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“What are you doing?” I shouted at her, as tears sprang to my eyes. Had I killed father? “Get over here! Help me!” I pleaded, my voice hoarse.

Me did nothing.

“Father... it’s alright, I-I’m right here! I-I’ll get this off you... I-I promise...” I vowed, scrabbling at the wood with nothing more than my bare hands, which I realized only now were trailing blood across the wood. I pulled my hands back and looked at them, and noticed four crescent moon cuts on each palm, every one oozing blood freely. I suspect they might have hurt, but for the shock I felt at having just blown my room apart.

My injuries could wait. Father was in immediate danger. Shaking my head, I wiped my hands on my nightgown, and continued pushing at the board, while the shack creaked dangerously around me.

I looked up in alarm, and found that to my horror, the very ceiling was wobbling from side to side. Apparently, a building without one wall wasn’t very stable... or at least this one wasn’t.

A hand shot out from my father’s side, and wrapped around my throat, clenching tightly. I gasped, clutching at the hand, scrabbling to find purchase and pry the fingers away.

“You... little bitch,” My father growled, and the hand around my throat tightened. “After everything I’ve done for you... this is how you repay me?!”

The room began to spin, and I could no longer tell whether it was simply my imagination, or the shack collapsing.

“I knew I should have drowned you as soon as you showed signs of this—this filthy magic!” he spat, and a gob of murky brown saliva landed on my cheek. “If I’m going to die, right here, in this filthy little shack, then so will you!” he hissed, tightening his grip on my neck.

The pain was unbearable. I could not breathe, my throat was on fire, and my bones felt ready to snap any moment. My vision was fading, and my hands fell limply to my sides when suddenly, the pressure released. Father’s hand was no longer on my neck, and I crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll, gasping for breath as tears streamed freely down my cheeks.

When I looked up, the burning sensation in my throat having abated slightly, Me stood there, aghast, staring at my father... whose hand now lay on the floor beside me, in a pool of blood.

I tried to scream, though it came out as more of a pained whimper, and crawled quickly towards the door I knew led outside. I yelped as I felt an arm scoop me up from beneath my stomach, terrified that it was my father, but I clung on for dear life anyway, as the shack began to collapse around us.

Whoever was holding me somersaulted out the ratty cloth-covered window just as the walls of the shack gave out, and the whole thing collapsed in on itself.

I tugged myself free from the large arms around me, coughing as I inhaled dust sent up in a cloud by the collapse of the shack that had been my home for as long as I had lived. My knees were scraped, it hurt to breathe, and my hands were covered in more dirt than had ever accumulated on the uneven floor of my tiny room.

It didn’t matter.

Father had tried to... had tried to kill me.

“What are you doing?” A strained voice asked from behind me, and I started, scuttling back on my hands and feet away from... Me. It was only Me. I turned and looked at her, and saw that a gash on her forehead was bleeding heavily. She lay sprawled on the ground, her once-fabulous robes now covered in dirt. I watched her move first one hand, then the other, and attempt to push herself up from the ground, only to wince and collapse back into a heap in the dirt.

“Are you... hurt?” I asked, perplexed. Could my friends be hurt? I didn’t even know it was possible. “Can... can I help?” I added, crawling closer to Me, deciding that she must be hurt, and wondering what I could do.

Me looked up at me, apparently startled to hear me offer my help. “I... I’m not sure,” She admitted warily, eyeing me like I was some sort of predator.

Her look... hurt me, somewhere deep in my chest. “I-I’m not going to hurt you,” I frowned, holding up my hands. “Even when I... I made that blast, I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

Me hesitated a moment before nodding, and holding out her left arm with a wince. “I think it’s broken,” she admitted, pointing to a place where her arm should have lay flat, but instead appeared to bend slightly.

I chewed on my lower lip. “I-I’ve never had that happen before,” I admitted, looking up at her, my eyes betraying the fear I would not let creep into my voice. “How do I...?”

Me shook her head, staring up at me meaningfully. “You’re not going to touch it. You’re going to heal it. I’m going to teach you how. Alright?”

I nodded tremulously, edging closer to Me and letting my hands hover above her arm.

“You remember when you got upset earlier? What that felt like, inside?” She asked, wincing as she pulled herself closer to me with her good arm. “You need to reach inside you for that feeling again. But you need to think about fixing my arm. Alright?”

I nodded again, reaching out and carefully laying my hands over her injured arm. When I had yelled, I had been upset. I... didn’t even remember why I had been upset. But I had needed Me to stop talking. Had needed it unlike anything else before. But now... now I needed to heal her. After all, she had just saved me from being trapped beneath the ruins of father’s shack.

I closed my eyes, reaching deep inside. Heal. I need to heal. Something on the periphery of my awareness seemed to wiggle, and I shifted my focus ever so slightly...

Me sighed, relieved, as my hands lit up; a faint blue glow encompassing them, and her arm, beneath them. I blinked, looking down at my hands, not fully understanding what was going on, or the cool, tingly sensation flowing through my fingers.

“You did it,” Me beamed, straightening up and feeling her injured arm with her other hand. “It’s fixed. Thanks, little me,” She praised, reaching over to ruffle my hair.

I leaned away from her before she could touch me, giving her a wary look. “What... what is this? Is this magic?” I asked, staring down at my hands dubiously.

Me nodded, her smile fading slightly. She pushed to her feet, brushing off the skirt of her robe, and offered me a hand up. I did not take it, instead, pushing myself to my feet.

I turned, and stared at the heap of splinters and clay that used to be my home. Father was under that mess, somewhere. Father, who fed me gruel, and hit me when he was bored. Father, who I had thought despite his bad behavior... loved me anyway. Father... who had just attempted to kill me.

I was free, it was true. I should be happy, by anyone’s standards. But I couldn’t help but feel the dull ache in my chest. Father didn’t love me. Maybe he never had. He thought I was a waste of space. No, worse than a waste of space. He thought I was dangerous. Worthy only of being killed.

I clenched my teeth together, and brushed my dirty hands against my equally-dirty nightgown, as if to clean them. “Magic...” I began, looking down at my hands, envisioning them ringed in the same blue glow they had been earlier. “Magic is dangerous, isn’t it?” I asked softly, looking up at Me. Who else was there but her, after all?

I was startled, therefore, to find that Me looked different now than she had mere minutes before. Where she had worn fabulous, wine red robes, now she wore little more than a brown sack of a dress. Her hair looked tangled and matted, no longer tied up neatly into an elegant knot on her head. Her face looked like it suddenly lacked color, compared to when she had been standing in my room.

“Yes, magic is dangerous,” Me sighed, looking past me at the wreck of the shack. It was a few long moments before she turned and looked down at me. “But it can also be very, very helpful. Like when you healed me, just now. Like how I stopped your father from choking you.”

My eyes widened at that. “You... _you_ stopped him?” I asked, my voice so quiet, it felt as though my words were being carried away by the wind before Me could even hear them.

Me simply nodded, a sad smile curling her lips. “I did. I have no love for your kind, not truly... but that man was a kind of evil I have not seen in a very long time. Not even in the Fade.”

“What’s the Fade?” I asked immediately, frowning at the unfamiliar word.

Me smiled faintly, and shook her head. “It is... the dream world. Where we come from. Me, and all your other friends. I will explain it in greater detail later.”

I frowned, turning away from Me and looking out over the field of tall grass, swaying gently in the wind. It felt as though I could get lost forever, just staring at that undulating mass of green.

A lot had changed in the past few minutes. I had changed. Me had changed, too, apparently. The shack was gone. Father was dead. What else would change?

“C-Can... Can I put it all back the way it was?” I asked, my voice wavering as I put into words the thought that had wriggled impatiently in the back of my mind from the moment I blew the walls of my room apart.

Me looked as though I had slapped her across the face. She looked down at me, frowning ever so slightly. “Put it back?” She echoed, shaking her head slowly as she took a step towards me. “You mean... undo everything that has happened?” She asked, laying a careful hand on my shoulder. I yanked my shoulder away.

“Y-Yes. Just answer it,” I scowled, not liking the way her voice seemed to imply that would be a bad idea. How could it be bad? How could it be worse than this? No home, no father.

What was worse? To have a filthy home, and a father who hated you, or to have no home and no father at all?

“No,” Me sighed, folding her hands at her waist, watching me with eyes filled with sympathy.

No. Of course not. A muscle in my jaw twitched, and I turned, storming away from her. Blind panic clawed up my chest from my gut, talons raking my heart into shreds, like a desperate cat, fleeing up a tree from an angry Mabari. What could I do now? What was there to do? Where was there to go? What was I?

“Wait, my child,” Me pleaded, taking hurried steps after me, until finally she caught me, gripping my shoulders tightly and turning me around so that I had to face her. “Please,” She pleaded, offering what was meant to be a comforting smile. “You have your life. You have your body. You even have me here, to help you. Surely, things cannot be so bad.”

“Things _can_ be so bad,” I countered, shaking free of Me’s grasp and taking a step back. “I have no home. No father. No gruel. No place to sleep. And... and magic! Magic, that I... that I don’t know how to control, and... and that killed father!” There was a sharp, acute pressure behind my eyes, and I realized with a start that I had begun to cry.

Me seemed to deflate, reaching out with one hand before simply letting it fall to her side once more. “Your father tried to kill you. You shouldn’t be living with someone like that—and you shouldn’t mourn them, either.”

I shook my head, biting down hard on my lower lip to keep from making a sound. She would not get the satisfaction. I turned and began to walk away again, only for Me to stop me—again.

“Wait,” She insisted, not turning me around this time, but gripping my shoulder more tightly than before. “I can help you. You need not wander the streets, risking detection by the Templars, who will lock you away just for possessing magic. You need not beg for gold and crumbs. I have seen your world. I can help you hide your magic, and assimilate into normal society. Perhaps even find you a family that loves you.”

A family that loves me. Was that possible? Begging for gold and crumbs... hiding from Templars... it sounded exhausting. It sounded terrifying. But when I turned to face Me, it was not out of laziness, or fear. It was out of curiosity. A loving family. Could I have that? Just like in the stories?

 “Is this a trick?” I demanded, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. My palms stung where I had cut into my skin earlier, and now rough pieces of dirt and stone had wedged themselves.

Me merely shook her head, kneeling and taking my hands in her own, bringing them to her lips and pressing a kiss to the back of each one.

I pulled my hands away, and walked past Me, wrapping my arms around myself while I thought. Was this a trick? Surely she was still the same. Surely she still just wanted power for herself. Right? Or had the ordeal with my father truly changed her? I felt changed. Was it so crazy to believe that she had changed, too?

I looked over my shoulder, just once, at the pile of rubble I had called home my whole life.

I knew my room, and I knew my father, and I knew the gruel he fed me. I knew how his hand or his belt felt, and I knew what the stars looked like from my window. I knew the pack of Mabari that ran by our house every now and again. I knew the loose floorboard, and the ratty blanket. I knew the sound of my father sleeping, and the sound of my father yelling. I knew the sound of nothing at all. I knew how to occupy myself when I grew bored, because boredom was all there ever was, except for occasional visits from my friends.

But now? Now I knew that there was so much more. And there was so much for me to learn. It was time to go out into the world and learn all that I could.

I nodded, placing my hand in Me’s, and closing my eyes as I felt a great surge of energy as we merged together.

I turned, giving the shack and my father no more thoughts, as I headed through the grassy field, towards the setting sun. Towards my future.


End file.
